im sick man, im ******* sick. sick of all this ****, all this pointless ****. all of these pointless people going through pointless motions to fit into this pointless mold to impress more pointless people that somehow make it to the top of this pointless, glorified, sick, pyramid of societal expectations. maybe when those pointless people that actually can do something about this, about our situation, are cured of their blindness, they can see what needs to be done in this pointless, glorified, sick, pyramid of societal expectations. so maybe we can start breaking ground instead of our skin, and so maybe we can stop this cycle of thinking where its okay to throw up our lunch, and so maybe we can do something about that kid who jumps in front of that train so he can escape the pointless people who are making pointless jokes about him because of his sexuality. come on now you pointless people at the top of that pointless, glorified, sick, pyramid of societal expectations. are you up there? are you listening?

an all purpose cleaner response to the

how-ya-doing-question,

as my vibe unmistakable;
the hatred in the world directed at
MY PEOPLE,
is inexplicable, beyond reason,
a hatred raw and pure in the
tiny places we humans hide it, lest
our ancient linkage to an unreasoned,
embarrassing emotion, be revealed

but now revealed it is reveled,
as the freedom to despise is a
valued thing

is an ancient scar, now freshly wounded
and the two thousand year old accumulated, callused,
surrounding wafer thin, layered upon layer of
tissue,
wiped away
in utter disbelief
cleansed,
a different kind of impure clean,
“like” an ethnic cleansing,
traceless, whisked away in a wink of moment,
a goner.

like hope, prior sentient optimism
sentenced to life imprisonment and
this sentence, and this very sentence!
written finally understanding that it is
a punishment
far worse than the quick relief of death.

c’mon, how about a few “fukk you jew”
cri de coeur, heartfelt, genuine, pointless
hate

no, not I, no, not me,
spare me the pithy comments,
the pointless sympathy, glistening
like evaporating water droplets
before disappearing, I ask myself,
not
why they hate, why it persists,
for this I understand and accept
the foulness of what we are capable of is,

beloved,

as a secret pleasure, now secreted in torrents.

no, I ask myself,

why do I write poetry,

for it is as pointless as
the hatred directed at me,
from birth, till death,
and ever after,
the humanity of poetry
just another fraud

another reason
why this man cries in the bathroom,^
not from any shape of shame,

because poetry is pointless
in times of hatred, and now we
know, recognize, it is always
somewhere, nearby, always
present and prescient,
pointless hatred,
itching to be pointed at me,
makes for
pointless poetry.


To whom shall I point my poetry?

Words are pointless
I listen, people are dumb
I open my mouth to speak
I try to push out the words-- my brain has none.

Sleep is pointless
I have so much research to do
What's all this research for?
I implore, I implore
My mind wants more.

Am I being told the facts?
Or just versions of the facts in which truth lacks?
Skepticism is driving me mad
Have you ever let knowledge drive you to the brink?
Must I stop what is natural to me: to think?

Thinking is pointless.
Now nothing is hopeless
Because once I stop thinking
The death in the truth will not be seen
And I can live carefree and dream.
I can live my life whichever way I please.
Just like everyone else is doing around me.

But no, I choose a different path
The one of aberration
I choose not to live a pointless life along with the masses
I am reaching out to a higher awareness
No matter how many times this course puts me in the throes of sadness.